


Rotten Odds

by Calypso_Mary



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Biting, Bottom Steve, Bottom Steve Rogers, Captain America Sam Wilson, Caretaking, Come Marking, Cuddling, Daddy Kink except Steve never says daddy, Dom Bucky Barnes, Dom/sub Undertones, Grief/Mourning, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Light Bondage, M/M, Manhandling, Marking, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Possessive Behavior, Protectiveness, Sub Steve Rogers, Suicidal Thoughts, Top Bucky, Top Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-28
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:53:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27246073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calypso_Mary/pseuds/Calypso_Mary
Summary: Steve is his own worst enemy, he's sure of it. If anyone had done what he'd done, he'd have killed them himself.Death is too kind of a fate for him. Where does that leave him? Living.Or, Steve kills the Winter Soldier, unaware that it's Bucky until it's too late. He spins out for years before disappearing to another universe, one with a Bucky who has been dealt a similar hand.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 61
Kudos: 98





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fic I've posted in a while! Turns out the only way to focus on my Master's Thesis is if I get out the fun words I want to write as well. I do not have a beta, and this is not edited very much. This is purely self-indulgent fanfiction. I hope you enjoy!  
> Thanks to all the lovely Discord friends who come up with wonderful ideas and chat about them! This fic wouldn't have happened if someone hadn't given me a bunch of feelings in the chat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just did a tiny bit of editing. There were some formatting and grammar issues I wanted to address!

Steve jams his shield into the Winter Soldier’s arm, gets a grip on him, and then bashes the Soldier's head with his shield. Clang, thunk, snap. The Soldier’s head jerks at an unnatural angle, his body falling limp against Steve. Steve moves out of the way and scans his surroundings as the body thuds against the pavement. _So much for a ghost story_ , Steve thinks. 

The body is lifeless, but the Soldier was obviously enhanced. It wasn’t just the arm that was impressive. Steve has never gone hand to hand with someone like that. Who knows what he could come back from? 

He kneels down to check for a pulse, keeping an eye out for Natasha and angling his shield for cover. The Soldier’s neck is mostly covered by his mask. The tips of Steve’s fingers catch under the edge of it and he lifts, causing it to fall away. 

It’s Bucky. 

It’s-it looks like Bucky. This vision that haunts Steve’s nightmares. Steve can’t believe how poorly his imagination had rendered this moment that he thought he would never see, Bucky dead in front of him. Steve’s brain scrambles for sense, shoving facts into some kind of workable theory that means that Steve didn’t just kill the one person he wishes he had back. Is he a clone? A sick joke that Hydra is trying to pull to compromise Steve? 

_ Maybe he’s not dead.  _ The thought jerks him into action, fingers pressing under the too familiar knob in his jaw, searching for a pulse. Nothing. Steve crawls closer and leans his head near Bucky’s mouth. Nothing. A last-ditch hope Hail Mary, Steve rests his head on Bucky’s chest, just over his heart. A visceral memory seizes him: a squeaky bed in Brooklyn on a too cold night where Steve would lay with his head almost exactly here, listening to Bucky’s heart, steadier and more reassuring than his own. He’s missing that one part though. He doesn’t breathe, doesn’t move. Tears fill his eyes, but he doesn’t blink. They fall anyways, awkwardly across his nose and down his temple before spilling onto Bucky’s tac vest. He’s shaking with the effort of hoping as hard as he can that if he’s still and quiet and patient he might find a reason to breathe again. 

It’s like an explosion when he finally gasps for air. One ragged breath, then ten more. He shifts to sit up with a shaking hand. Another goes up to Bucky’s face and cards through his hair. Steve did this. He couldn’t save Bucky on the train. Someone stole Bucky and made him into whatever this Soldier is, and Steve did nothing. And then Bucky was right in front of him and Steve killed him. He’s never felt more like a monster. 

Cold settles in Steve’s veins and a weird sort of numbness blankets his mind, like someone pulled a ripcord and he’s floating above it and in it all at once. He can’t look away from Bucky’s eyes, blank and unfocused. 

“Steve, we have to get going!” Natasha grabs his shoulder, her eyes searching his face. He’s not sure what she’s looking for, but her eyebrows furrow in concern. She glances at Bucky and her mouth sets firm. 

“Steve, we have to keep moving. Let’s go,” she says, her voice softer, still fast, but a little more careful. She’s right. 

“What about him?” He has a weird compulsion to carry Bucky’s body on his back and bring him home. 

“I’m sorry Steve, we can’t take him with us. We have to go. Now.” Natasha’s grip on his shoulder tightens as she gives Steve a small shake. Steve looks at her properly for the first time since the fight started. She and Sam are in danger. Steve’s fingers curl in Bucky’s hair one last time. It takes a second, but he tries to dig into the spaces between the microseconds to create a place where maybe he could live in this moment forever. He releases his fingers, clenches his fist, and turns to follow Natasha. 

He’d be a liar if he said he never looked back. 

\-- 

It almost feels like a dream, those 5 minutes on the highway. There’s no proof that any of it happened at all. The Winter Soldier was a ghost story, Bucky Barnes died in the second World War, and every good person at SHIELD fought for their lives. 

Natasha and Sam. Those are the two people who know. They both dealt with him in the aftermath: shaky, impulsive, numb. He did what he had to and fought like hell, hoping that maybe if he was going to go, it could be by trying to bring down the bastards that kept Bucky from him. 

And now? 

Steve can’t fight anyone unless he can see their face. 

Steve’s nightmares are just the sound of Bucky’s neck snapping over and over again, followed by a solid thud against the asphalt. 

He finds his only moments of peace right after a mission, when he’s exhausted and numb from adrenaline and he can think of the people he has saved. That’s when he feels cleanest. 

No one ever said he had healthy coping mechanisms. No one ever really bothered to notice, either. 

\--

Steve wishes he had gone with Hawkeye to get the soul stone, or that he had grabbed the gauntlet instead of Tony. Life just seems so unbearably long from where he stands. He can’t fathom fighting his way through the rest of it like this. He wants to lay on the ground until the grass grows over his skin and the leaves swallow him whole. Fade away. 

That’s never happening here. 

He has one mission: return the stones to exactly when and where they were before. 

He can bring himself to do this one last thing. And then he has a plan. 

Pick a universe and stay. Make it impossible for him to hurt anyone else. Don’t look for Bucky. 

Simple.

\--

Sun filters through the trees, the leaves rustling slightly in the breeze.

He gives Sam a long firm hug before reaching down to his feet and picking up the shield. 

“Keep this safe for me?” Steve holds it out to him, smiling. Sam looks startled. 

“You should really take that with you,” Sam says, crossing his arms. 

“No, you keep it. Use it if duty calls while I’m gone. Please.” Steve meets Sam’s eyes, trying to let him know that it’s all going to be okay. Sam places a hand on the shield, his eyes narrowing as he stares at Steve’s face. 

“You know what you’re doing, man?” His voice is firm, worried, and his skin stretches taught across his knuckles as he grasps the shield.

“Yes. I wouldn’t trust this with anyone else.” He wouldn’t. He doesn’t even really trust it with himself any more. 

Steve lets go of the shield, and Sam’s arm momentarily jerks under the additional weight, but he adjusts and holds it firm. 

Sam is going to be great.

Steve strides onto the platform as Bruce adjusts the settings. 

“Ready to go, Steve?” Bruce asks, giving him a friendly smile. “Remember-” 

“Exactly when and where they belong. I know.” Steve smiles reassuringly. 

“See you in a minute,” Bruce says, and then Steve is gone.

\--

Returning the stones isn’t exactly easy, but he does it. After the last one is in place, he stands in an alley in New York City, thinking about where he’s going next. 

It’s not too late to change the plan. He could go back to his world and live out the rest of his life. He thinks of the long nights fractured by nightmares, the amount of fighting he would have left to do, how many more people he could hurt. He thinks of being able to disappear. 

It’s not a hard decision. One last trip: any universe but his own.

\--

Central park isn’t too different from his time. If he didn’t know any better, he might say that this universe is the same as his own. Steve sits still on a park bench as a whole world passes him by. The chatter of squirrels and people drift in and out of his ears as he watches all of these people living their lives. No one pays him any mind. 

A man comes running up the sidewalk, medium length brown hair tied back. Steve forgets to breathe. He recognizes that face. 

He had a very important part of his plan: don’t look for Bucky. He couldn’t bear it if this Bucky suffered the same fate that his own had. He couldn’t bear it to see Bucky alive and not be able to touch him, to talk to him. No, this Bucky is a stranger, and Steve would do well to remember it. 

Steve gets up from his seat on the bench and starts walking after Bucky has passed him by. He really doesn’t mean to follow him. It’s just that seeing Bucky alive and whole, Steve wasn’t prepared for that. He feels like he can breathe, knowing that he hadn’t hurt whatever version of Bucky was here. 

Maybe it’s worse, though, knowing that him killing Bucky is not an immovable notch in fate’s timeline. That one is entirely his own fuck up. Anxiety and nausea churn in his chest, but it feels more bearable if he can see Bucky. So, he tries to be subtle as he follows Bucky through the city, right up to when Bucky disappears into a building. It might be where he lives. Steve doesn’t really trust himself to not obsess over him. After this, he’ll leave the city.

\--

It’s the next day, and Steve walks loops in the neighborhood where he last saw Bucky, carefully never passing by Bucky’s building. He hopes he doesn’t see Bucky, because maybe if he doesn’t then he’ll move on. But, still he eats up ground, thoughts turning in his mind like his feet over pavement. This is more something to do than anything else, he tries to justify. 

This works up until a hand grabs his shoulder and another one clasps over his mouth, yanking him into an alley. He struggles and panic surges briefly in his chest until he hears a voice. 

“You’ve been following me,” Bucky’s voice grits out near his ear. Steve never thought he would hear his voice again. He stops his struggle, knowing that he would never fight against Bucky.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did some editing. I missed some grammar and formatting errors the first time around!

“Who are you?” Bucky snarls, pinning the imposter’s hands to his back and shoving him face first into a wall. The imposter tenses, but goes easily, grimacing at the bite of brick into his cheek. Huh.

“I’m Steve.” The man’s eyes flick across Bucky’s face.

How the fuck did HYDRA even get the eyes right? It’s like they found Steve’s dead body and stole them right out of their sockets. Bucky shivers.

“No, you’re not.” Bucky twists the man’s arm further. The man’s breath catches at the strain in his shoulder. “Steve’s dead. You’re going to try again, and this time, tell me why whoever sent you thought that this would work.” Bucky presumes it’s HYDRA trying to tempt him into a trap, or maybe SHIELD. No one likes him very much. He should probably be keeping one eye out for an ambush right now. He takes three seconds and scans his surroundings, finding nothing of concern, then flicks his gaze down to the imposter.

“Answer the question!” Bucky jerks the man against the wall, shoving his face harder into the brick. The man licks his lips.

“No one sent me, it’s-” the man turns his face into the wall, eyebrows furrowing together. “It’s complicated. I really am Steve.”

Bucky’s had enough of being nice. He flips out a knife and presses the edge of the blade against the man’s neck. “Start talking or you won’t be able to anymore.”

“Do it.” It’s almost a whisper, maybe a whimper. The man’s eyes are shut tight and a tear tracks down his cheek. “Just kill me. Would probably be better for both of us.”

Bucky freezes, the knife almost drawing blood. His brain stutters over the way this man tilts his chin closer to his chest, the way his eyes stared at Bucky’s mouth when Bucky was talking, the way a whimper makes his mouth water.

“You said it’s complicated?” Bucky removes the knife from the man’s neck and brings his hand up to the man’s jaw to trace the line of it with his thumb. The man’s form shudders and jolts underneath Bucky’s. He almost thinks it’s an attempt to escape until he hears the hitch of the man’s breath. Crying, then. Huh. Bucky strokes the man’s jaw again. “Answer me.”

“I’m not from around here.” The man takes a deep, shaking breath, relaxing into Bucky’s harsh hold and sniffing. “Did you know that time travel exists? Alternate Universes too,” he laughs sharply. “Real crazy stuff. I was running away. I wanted to disappear. Couldn’t do that in my world. I thought if I went to a different world I could, well, fade into the background.”

Bucky looks into the man’s eyes. Bucky’s pretty good at telling when people are lying. He’s still not the man he was before he got captured, he never will be. Some training he’ll never shake, he guesses. And Bucky might be shooting himself in the foot, might be signing his own death certificate, but he wants to believe the man.

“You’re pretty bad at going unnoticed. You stuck out to me like a sore thumb,” Bucky murmurs, sheathing his knife so he can grasp the man’s jaw. “Why were you following me?”

“I-” the man cuts himself off, looks down, then meets Bucky’s eyes. “You’re dead, in my universe. Got captured by Hydra, brainwashed and turned into an assassin. I didn’t even realize it was you.” The man grits his teeth and grimaces. “You had on this mask, and I didn’t even know it was you.” The man’s voice gets softer, it’s almost a plea. “I only found out that I had killed you after I removed the mask. I-” He swallows thickly, eyes squeezing shut. “I told myself I wouldn’t look, but I still wondered if you were here. If this world’s me made the same mistake. Turns out he didn’t. Once I saw you, I couldn’t-” his breath hitches. “I was too weak to look away.”

It’s almost too good to be true, that a Steve would show up here at his feet when he destroyed his own years ago. Bucky stares intently at the man before him. Steve? He releases his brutal grip on him, stepping out of this man’s space for a second before grabbing his shoulders and flipping him so the man faces him, back against the wall. The man just lets himself be moved by Bucky, arms hanging loose at his sides. Huh.

Bucky runs his hands through the man’s hair, rubs his fingers behind his ears, down his neck, under the collar of his shirt, checking for a photostatic veil, for a wire, makeup, anything. The man lets him, resting his weight against the wall. Bucky roughly grabs the man’s jaw and holds it open, using two gloved metal fingers to skate around his gums, looking for tech. Finally, Bucky grips the man’s face with two hands and stares into his eyes. The man looks confused, a little vulnerable.

“Shift your eyes up, then to the side,” Bucky orders, softer than he intended. He tracks the man’s irises, seeing no shifting, no shadow of a lens. No contacts then. Something unfurls in his chest as he allows himself to be convinced that this man is actually Steve. A Steve that seems to have gotten the same bad hand he had been dealt. Bucky’s chest tightens with the urge to drag Steve closer and tuck him under his chin.

“Who are you running from?” Bucky asks.

“No one. Myself, if I’m being honest.”

And this Steve looks nearly identical to his own. And this Steve’s eyes look lost and hurt and hopeful and broken all at once, churning together in a way that feels familiar.

Bucky wishes every day that he was able to overcome his programming on the helicarrier. When he was able to shake Hydra’s influence months later, he remembered Steve. A week later, he remembered how he killed him. Rotten odds, cruel fate, Bucky has never cared, he always swore that if he could do it over, he’d be able to shake his programming sooner. He’d somehow do it differently

_I guess Steve’s Bucky never got that far_ , he thinks. _Lucky bastard_. Except if he and this other Bucky were anything alike, lucky is not the word they’d use to describe anything that gave Steve this burden.

\-- 

Bucky’s staring at his face, hands still pressing his shoulders firmly into the brick wall. Steve flicks his gaze up and down Bucky’s body, still disbelieving that he can touch him, that he’s alive. Like a vibrating wire stretched too tight, grief and want ring together, echoing from his head to his heart and back. He shoves off the wall, out from under Bucky’s hands. His arms clutch around Bucky’s back as he buries his face into his neck. His fingers claw in Bucky’s shirt, like Bucky’s driftwood and Steve’s a drowning man. 

Bucky freezes under him, and Steve braces for the hot pain of a knife in his shoulder, or to be shoved off and abandoned. It’s what he deserves. What he doesn’t expect is for a sturdy arm to wrap around his back and for warm fingers to slide up his scalp, keeping his face pressed against Bucky. 

“Oh sweetheart.” Bucky’s grip on him tightens as Steve keeps a sob from creeping into his throat. This pain that’s either numb or blazing feels like it’s fracturing. Steve doesn’t deserve this. He killed his Bucky. This Bucky should throw him into oncoming traffic.

Bucky scratches his scalp and hums soothingly in his ear. Steve doesn’t know what to do with it. 

“I’m taking you with me. If HYDRA or SHIELD catch wind of you, they’ll try to capture you.” 

“I can get by on my own. You don’t need to worry about me. I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

“It wasn’t a suggestion.” Bucky’s voice hardens again as he grips the back of Steve’s neck and leads him out of the alley. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought this would be porn, but I guess Steve needed to cry first!   
> Also, I just did some editing to address some grammatical errors I found.

Bucky locks the door behind him, both deadbolts and a chain latch. Steve stands right next to the frame, looking cautiously around Bucky’s apartment, unsettled. 

“Sit down and take off your shoes,” Bucky says, a soft touch on Steve’s shoulder directing him to the bench. Steve nods, looks like he’s about to say something, then closes his mouth and shakes his head, a blush creeping ever so slightly across his cheekbones. 

Seeing Steve sit here in front of him? It’s like getting off a boat and standing on solid ground for the first time. Wrongfooted, maybe stumbling, everything a little harsher, and Bucky just wants to gain equilibrium. Shaking his head to clear it, he bends down to take his own shoes off. He almost doesn’t, knowing that if Steve runs, it would be advantageous if Steve was the only one barefoot. 

“When was the last time you ate?”

“Um-” Steve kicks his shoes underneath the bench with his feet. “Yesterday.” 

Bucky checks his watch. It’s 5 pm. 

“We’re fixing that.” Another inch of equilibrium settles under his feet. 

“Sit there, I’ll make something quick.” He gestures to the bar. Steve hesitantly sits down, still looking adrift. Bucky isn’t entirely convinced that Steve’s story is true, but the more he watches Steve, the more he thinks it might be. 

Bucky moves around the kitchen, grabbing plates and sandwich supplies. Steve’s eyes track every movement, and when Bucky glances up to check on him, he quickly looks down, his face pale. Worry coils a little tighter in Bucky’s stomach. He makes quick work of the sandwiches, then sets a food laden plate in front of Steve. 

“Here, eat up.” He watches Steve as he glances from the sandwich to Bucky and back. Steve picks up the sandwich and takes a small bite, then a larger one. A tension in Bucky’s shoulders eases that he hadn’t realized was there in the first place. He nods to himself then starts eating his own food. 

They are too far into the realm of surreal for things to really be considered awkward. Steve never stops watching Bucky’s hands as they pick up his sandwich or his jaw as he chews, and Bucky’s pretty sure that he himself hasn’t looked away from Steve for more than three seconds. He wants to drag Steve to the other side of the counter, just to have him closer. God, what has he turned into? 

“What should I call you?” Steve breaks the silence with three bites of his sandwich left.

“Uh-” Bucky draws a blank. He remembers what Steve used to call him, but this isn’t his Steve. “What did you call me in your universe?” 

“Bucky,” Steve says then almost laughs. “Or James if I was mad.” 

“Bucky’s good.” Bucky’s perfect; it’s exactly what his Steve called him. No one has said that name to him since. Well. 

_Bucky, you’ve known me your whole life._

“Why did you take me with you?” Steve asks, voice soft, low, maybe a little lost. 

“Because I wanted to. Because you’re Steve.” Because it never occurred to him that he wouldn’t. 

“I’m not him.” 

“I know.” 

“I don’t think you understand. I’m nothing like your Steve.” Steve is harsh, but still quiet. His fists clench where they rest on the counter.

“I wouldn’t be too sure about that one.” So far, this Steve is nearly a fucking carbon copy, down to the way he curls his o’s in his mouth. He knows they’re not the same. He just can’t spot the differences with how blinded he is by the fact that he’s here at all. 

“You can leave if you want.” Bucky’s being honest, even though it’s not quite that simple. Steve could leave, Bucky’s just not sure he wouldn’t follow. “Or, you can stay here, at least for tonight. We’ll figure something out.” 

Steve shifts in his seat and chews on his lip. Bucky’s mouth waters at the way Steve’s lips redden after they pass between his teeth.

“I’ll stay, for now.” 

“Good.” Bucky gives Steve a critical onceover, thinking about what Steve needs right now. Steve fiddles with the cuffs of his sleeves as a tendon in his neck jumps. His pale skin accentuates the bags under his eyes. Tired and uneasy. Bucky isn’t surprised. 

“Do you want a shower?” Steve nods. 

Bucky leads the way, stopping by the linen closet for a towel and handing it to Steve. Steve follows half a step behind him and sits on the edge of the tub as Bucky turns on the water and adjusts the temperature. 

“You can use whatever is in here. Holler if you need anything.” 

Bucky leaves Steve to it, keeping the door cracked open an inch, just in case. With Steve out of his sight for the first time since assaulting him on the street, he has a moment to get his bearings. 

He unbuckles his holsters and puts both of his guns in his safe. All but one of his knives go in a drawer. He keeps one on him, because he’s not stupid. Okay, maybe he is, but he doesn’t have a death wish. 

Bucky grabs Steve’s bag from the bench in the entry way and opens the flap. The contents are sparse: a weird looking watch, a change of clothes, and a wallet. He opens the wallet and out falls a yellowing photo. Fading and smudged blue ink reads on one side _James Buchanan Barnes, 1943_. Bucky flips the photo over and sees his own, younger face staring back at him. He doesn’t remember this picture. It’s impossible to say whether that’s because he never had it taken or because some memories are just not important enough to come back to him. He looks a little closer at the photo, noticing how one corner of it is more worn, as if someone habitually held it here with their thumb and wished it was a person. Bucky shivers. It’s Steve. It’s Steve or Bucky’s a dead man. But at this point, if this is the work of HYDRA, he fucking folds, because if they can pull this kind of mind fuck, he has no hope left. 

Bucky hears the water shut off, so he puts Steve’s things back in his bag and brings it to the bedroom. 

\--

Steve walks out of the bathroom, towel wrapped around his waist, feeling a little self-conscious

“You can wear those.” Bucky gestures to the clothes laid out on the bed. Steve nods, murmuring a thanks. Should he change in the bathroom? He glances at Bucky who is rummaging through a dresser, back turned towards him. He quickly drops his towel and slips on the underwear and pants before sitting down on the bed and scrubbing the towel through his hair. 

“Arms up.” Bucky steps in front of him, shirt held out as if he’s going to dress him. It doesn’t even occur to Steve to protest or insist that he can do it on his own. He feels his cheeks heat as the collar of the shirt pops over his nose. Someone doing this for him feels, well, like they care. And Steve knows that Bucky doesn’t, can’t, not after what Steve’s done, but it’s nice to pretend. Bucky’s hands smooth out the shirt on his back, and then he grabs Steve’s jaw and tilts his head up. Bucky’s eyes glint with something unknown to Steve as his thumb ghosts across Steve’s neck, mirroring where the knife had rested against his skin. 

“Did I hurt you?” Bucky asks, firm and quiet and dangerous all at once. It’s overpowering, the way Bucky’s broad torso shields his space, the way Bucky’s hands could snap Steve’s neck in the space of a breath. He’s almost dizzy with it, like if Steve was standing he would stumble. Bucky’s words catch up to him. Is Bucky asking because he wanted to hurt Steve? Steve shakes his head minutely, trying to wrap his brain around what’s going on. 

“Use your words.”

“No, you didn’t.” Steve tenses a little, half expecting Bucky to flip out a knife and fix that. Bucky doesn’t. Warm lips press to his forehead. Steve shivers at the contact, helpless to stop himself from dropping his head onto Bucky’s shoulder. He’s pathetic. 

Bucky moves closer, placing another kiss against his temple. Steve reaches out and grabs the front of Bucky’s shirt, unsure of what he’s allowed to do.

“You’re fine,” Bucky murmurs against his ear. “Come on, let’s lay down.” 

Steve nods silently, hiding his face in Bucky’s neck. Bucky lays down, dragging Steve with him so Steve’s curled on top of him. 

_Oh God._ His cheek rests on Bucky’s chest. Steve’s knuckles are white where his hand fists in Bucky’s shirt. Blood roars in his ears, muting out the whole world including Bucky’s heartbeat. He gasps, trying to take in air, frantically trying to sit up, trying to do anything to make sure that he’s not back on that highway. 

“Stevie.” An old nickname cuts through his consciousness as Bucky rolls them over, caging him in. Bucky’s hair falls like a curtain around them and blocks out everything else.

“Take a deep breath with me, Stevie,” Bucky murmurs. The breathing helps, especially being able to see Bucky’s chest rise and fall. Bucky’s gaze rest on him, worried and soft, and Steve can’t help but take him in. Steve leans into Bucky’s hand as he cups his cheek. 

“Do you know what happened?” Bucky asks. Steve nods. 

“I-” Steve swallows. Just thinking about it makes his skin crawl. “We used to do that. In Brooklyn a long time ago. And then when I, when he.” Steve turns his head away. Tt’s hard to feel this with Bucky watching him. “When I killed him, I checked. To see if he was dead.” Warm wetness brims in his eyes. “And he was. And I just laid there with my head on his chest.” He can’t stop the sobs that shake free. He can’t stop the shame, either, that scrapes against his throat. Steve hasn’t earned the right to feel this way, it was his fault after all. 

Two broad hands cup his cheeks, thumbs wiping away tears underneath his eyes. 

“You can cry, that’s fine,” Bucky murmurs against his forehead. He lets go of his face, arms wrapping around his shoulders and tugging Steve with him, so Bucky’s sitting against the headboard and Steve is in his lap. 

“There. Whatever you need to do, you can sweetheart.” 

Steve tucks his face against Bucky’s neck and sobs again. Warm fingers card through his hair. Steve doesn’t know how long they sit like that, the weight he’s been carrying for so long finally brimming over in waves and shudders and wrenches. Eventually he calms down, only a little shaky. He feels Bucky reach for something, a tissue that Bucky uses to wipe his cheeks. Every ounce of tenderness Bucky shares feels like something catching on blister burned skin. 

“You don’t have to,” Steve says, rough and stuffed up from crying. “I’ll do it.” 

Bucky’s hand stops a moment, hovering over tear-wet skin.

“No, I’ve got it.” Bucky swipes across his nose and Steve sniffs. 

“Here.” Bucky holds the tissue to Steve’s nose. “Blow.” 

Steve guesses he doesn’t know how to not do what Bucky tells him, like it’s some sort of compulsion. He blows his nose and Bucky gives him a kiss on his cheek before throwing the tissue away. His eyes hurt and his head throbs and he’s tired in a way that he hasn’t been in a while, wrung out but also washed a little clean. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you deal with that.” Steve presses the heels of his hands to his eye sockets as the guilt starts to seep in. “That’s not something I usually do.” 

“Don’t apologize. It seemed like you needed that.” Bucky’s voice is soft and low, and Steve can’t get over the familiar way it drifts down his spine. 

Steve is still trying to figure out how to tell Bucky that he’s not his Steve. He feels caught in a lie every time Bucky looks at him. God, Bucky’s going to ruin him. When Steve leaves, he’s going to shrivel up and crumble to dust.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've never written porn before, so I hope it passes muster! I hope you enjoy the update!  
> Also, I just did some editing to fix a few grammatical errors!

Steve’s quiet now in Bucky’s lap, laying down more than sitting up. The weight of him on his chest feels like a mooring line, a point of contact that Bucky can focus on. The haptic satisfaction of warm flesh under soft cotton lights up a new memory like a candle. It’s cold, and he and Steve just had a brutal take-down of a HYDRA base. They almost lost Dugan, and a lot of the guys had been shaken, including Steve. That night, Steve slept almost on top of him, and all Bucky could do was hold him, his palms staying warm where he held Steve and the tops of his hands turning frigid by morning. He wonders if the Steve he’s holding now has the same memory. 

Steve shifts off his lap, and Bucky stops himself from immediately pulling him back. 

“So, um,” Steve starts, staring hard at his hands. Bucky raises an eyebrow. “How did you end up here?” Steve looks up at him. “Was it HYDRA? Did the SSR give you a serum? Something had to have happened, with you here as you are.”

“You’re talking to a formerly brainwashed former assassin. I fell off some train in the 40’s and HYDRA must have found me somehow. Fucking Zola.” 

Steve’s voice is hollow. “Train?”

Bucky puts a hand on his thigh and gives it a squeeze. “Yeah, it was a mission, an explosion. I tried to hold on, but, well.” Bucky might be the one saying this, but Steve has this hundred-yard stare that suggests that he’s seeing it.

“Oh. That’s-” Steve covers his mouth with hand. “Familiar.” 

Whatever universe Steve comes from sounds like absolute shit if it put him through the hell of Bucky dying twice. 

“I’m sorry.” Bucky winces at himself. It’s probably the worst thing to say. 

“God, don’t be,” Steve breathes out, shaking his head and rubbing his eyes, then wincing. Oh.

“Hey, why don’t you go splash some water on your face? I have a spare toothbrush in there too if you want.” 

“Yeah, that sounds good.” Steve gets up from the bed and stretches his back. Bucky is tempted to lift his shirt and kiss his stomach. Restraining himself, he gets up and walks to his dresser, tugging off his shirt and tossing it in his hamper along the way. It’s only after he’s changed into his flannel pants that he turns to find Steve staring. Steve quickly looks away, cheeks a little pink. Bucky opens his mouth to say something, but Steve is already on his way to the bathroom. Smiling a little, Bucky ties his hair up, then walks through his apartment, rechecking his locks and glancing out his windows.

Nowadays, SHIELD and HYDRA are mostly preoccupied with each other and don’t have much extra man-power to pay him any mind. That wasn’t always the case, and it’ll change again in the future, so he tries to be careful. He watches the street for a minute, more to soothe his nerves than to provide useful surveillance. A minute is nothing, in the grand scheme of things. 

\--

He’s in the middle of filling up a glass of water in the kitchen when Steve wanders in and leans against the counter, arms crossed.

“I can sleep out here tonight." Steve tilts his head towards the couch.

If Bucky is being honest with himself, he was expecting for Steve to sleep in his bed. With him. If he thinks about it for more than a second, Bucky realizes why that assumption might be wrong. They did technically meet only a few hours ago. The thought of Steve sleeping out here? He considers it for a moment. Logically, Bucky knows that he's a stranger to Steve, so maybe he should be fine with having a boundary here.

Bucky looks at the window in the living room. It's hard not to imagine broken glass and Steve's blood on the couch because someone decided Bucky was worth their time and found Steve instead. 

_He’s not your Steve._

_Fuck, I know._

It's so hard to draw that line, so easy to pretend that the Steve in front of him is the same one who smiled at him every morning, even in the war that chewed them both up. 

"Are you uncomfortable with both of us sleeping in my bed?" If Steve’s uncomfortable, that’s a nonstarter, Bucky would just take the floor and be thankful he’s there at all. He just needs to make sure something doesn’t happen to him. 

“No, I don’t want to intrude, is all. Especially with how nice you’ve been. I don’t want to take advantage.” 

“Don’t even worry about it, punk.” The old nickname falls out of his mouth before he can stop himself. “We’re both taking the bed.” 

The smallest smile blooms on Steve’s face. Bucky’s struck by the enormity of it, the first smile he’s seen Steve give him in decades. A grin breaks across his face. He slides the water across the counter to Steve, who takes a long gulp. His neck bobs and Bucky almost reaches out to cup his hand around it. 

“You’ve had a long day, want to go ahead and turn in?” 

“Yeah, I’m-” Steve pauses and thinks. “Tired. I didn’t sleep last night.” He takes another long gulp, draining the glass. 

“Oh honey, let’s get you to bed.” Bucky knocks a hip against Steve, softly dislodging him from where he was leaning. Placing a hand on the small of Steve’s back, he leads him back to the bedroom.

“Get in bed, I’ll be right back,” Bucky murmurs with a soft shove to Steve’s back. 

\--

Steve slips into bed and sinks into the mattress. The faucet sounds from the bathroom, and if he cranes his neck a little, he can see Bucky brushing his teeth. Huffing out a soft breath, he curls up a little tighter, pressing his face into the pillow. It’s hard, knowing that this is temporary. Part of Steve wants to stay, to selfishly bask in even a fraction of the warmth he’s felt these past few hours. Another part of him knows that he shouldn’t. This Bucky deserves better. This Bucky lost someone he loved, and Steve would be worse than he ever feared if he used that fact to manipulate him into caring, into giving undeserved affection. And Steve was so resolved before to just fade out of existence and live with the variably raging, numbing, aching thing he’s been carrying for years. Steve wants to find that wish in him now, but if it’s there, he can’t reach it. Avoiding Bucky was part of his plan for a reason. Steve predicted this weakness, this selfishness. It’s not the first time he thoughtlessly took from Bucky. A different universe apparently doesn’t change that. 

Tomorrow, he’ll leave. He’ll make Bucky understand why he’s better off without him. It’ll be hard, but Steve’s good at fighting, even when it’s himself.

The bed dips, pulling Steve from his thoughts. Bucky turns to shut off the lamp, and all Steve can see is how the muscles stretch across his naked back. He felt those muscles shove him around all day, the thought of it causing a strike of want to land in his stomach. The flick of a switch sounds and the room goes dark except for a few slices of yellow light from the street. 

For all that Bucky had been handling him nonstop since the alley, they weren’t touching now. Maybe Bucky realized that he shouldn’t trust Steve. He wouldn’t blame him. Steve’s surprised at how easily he seemed to accept his brief explanation. 

Steve stares past his fingers at Bucky’s profile. He lays on his back and it would be easy for Steve to reach out and brush against his shoulder. He won’t, but it’s a nice thought to entertain. 

Bucky turns to face him, street light passing over his face. “Hey,” he says, soft and smooth, his hand grasping Steve’s shoulder. Steve inches a little closer and Bucky slips his arm around his back, tugging him into his chest. Warm skin slides under Steve’s palms as he grazes a hand up Bucky’s back to settle against a shoulder blade.

“This good?” Bucky murmurs into Steve’s hair. 

“Yes,” Steve whispers. 

“Go to sleep, Stevie, I’ve got you.” 

\-- 

Steve wakes gently on his side, hazy and warm. One of his thighs is slung over Bucky's hip, Steve's face tucked against his shoulder. Morning light streaks across the bed and their sleeping forms, causing some strands of Bucky's hair to shine like hot copper. Sighing, Steve presses closer, trying to drag this syrupy moment back down into sleep. Bucky's arms tighten around him.

"Good morning," Bucky hums. His hands go from Steve's back to his hair and neck, running down to his sides, as if he's checking to make sure he's still there. 

"Morning," Steve whispers, staying still another second before starting to pull away. Bucky holds him firm. 

"Stay like this a little longer?" Bucky's voice is sleep soft and Steve wishes he could wrap himself up in it. He nods minutely, but Bucky must feel it and understand, because he hums contentedly. 

It's a moment that feels outside of time, like the sandman sprinkled Pym particles in their eyes instead of sleep sand and now they're in their own pocket dimension. Steve savors it, or tries to, but no matter how this feels, this time is borrowed, finite.

“Bucky, I need to talk with you.” It's better to just get this over with. Maybe if he's lucky, he and Bucky can have some coffee before he leaves.

“What about?” Bucky's eyebrows furrow in concern as he pulls back a bit to look Steve in the face.

“I am not the same Steve that you knew.” Steve sits up fully for this, blanket pooling in his lap.

“I know that.” Bucky's voice has lost all remnants of sleep. He takes a hand and covers one of Steve's as he sits up, trying to meet Steve's eyes.

“I don’t think you get it. You treat me like I am, but I’m not. I’m different. I’m worse.”

“I highly doubt that you’re bad, Steve.” Bucky is almost dismissive, like Steve is being ridiculous. 

“How can you say that?”

“If you had known, Steve." Bucky’s left hand settles heavily on Steve's shoulder, and Steve looks at him. "If you had known it was Bucky, would you have done it?” 

“No, of course not. I would rather have just let him kill me."

“I know, trust me I know." Bucky’s thumb rubs circles against his skin. "So, you’re not bad. Not at all, Steve.”

“But I did it.” And that's the fact that Steve can never hide or compartmentalize, the reality that it all came down to Steve and his shield.

Bucky licks his lips and opens his mouth like he’s hesitating on saying something. 

“I’m going to be honest Steve. Whatever Bucky that HYDRA had bound and gagged and buried in the back of the Solder’s mind, he was rooting for you the whole time. He always was. He wouldn’t have wanted to kill you.” 

And Steve hadn’t thought of it that way before, that maybe it was one or the other. That maybe Steve killed Bucky so Bucky wouldn’t kill Steve. Steve couldn’t imagine how bad Bucky would feel if he broke his conditioning and remembered what happened. It’s not exactly comforting. Steve hopes that it wouldn't have to be one way or the other, that there was a universe where they both lived. But if it had to be? As much as Steve is willing to die for Bucky, he is also willing to bear his pain, his burden. 

And this is a lot of pain. And this is a heavy burden. In some twisted way, Steve is willing to do this, if it means sparing Bucky the agony. 

"But it hurts so much." Something shatters in Steve differently. Guilt and shame fall away to reveal unfettered grief, the true crux of it all. How is he just going to live with this?

"I know." And Bucky looks like he does, if the shadow in his eyes is any indication. "But punishing yourself doesn't make it better." 

"I don't know what to do." Self-hatred was a potholder for the burning loss. He's not sure how to handle it all without it.

Bucky’s voice and soothing and sure. "Stay with me." As if it’s that simple. 

"You don't even know me." 

"I don’t get do-overs. But I swore if I had a second chance, I’d do it differently. So, I’m not letting you out of my fucking sight. No one is going to touch you, sweetheart,” Bucky says, voice going into this dark and dangerous thing that shouldn’t feel as good as it does.

“But I’m not even him, Buck. I’m not your Steve.” He sounds small and a little broken. 

“I know. And I’m not your Bucky either. But I don’t care. We’ll make something new.” 

For the first time, Steve lets himself reach for Bucky, grabbing him and pulling him close. Bucky runs warm fingers through his hair, his metal fingers cupping Steve's jaw. Steve looks down at his mouth and Bucky surges forward, capturing Steve's lips with his own. Steve can't stop the small whimper in his throat as he kisses him back. Bucky pulls away for a moment and Steve tries to follow his lips, but Bucky's fingers tighten in his hair. They share a breath, Bucky's intense blue eyes flickering over Steve's face. Steve starts to nod, and Bucky is already back on him, kissing him fiercely. Bucky’s stubble scrapes against his face and his soft lips move against his own, and he feels utterly caught between Bucky’s hands, under his mouth. Bucky is the fisherman and his kiss is the lure, pulling Steve from the depths of himself to gasp out a new existence. 

Bucky’s low groan resonates where their lips meet, and Steve scrambles his fingers against the bare skin on Bucky’s back, trying to close every lonely inch between them. Bucky’s fingers move from his jaw to his chest, shoving him back down to the mattress. He bounces a moment from the force before settling into the soft sheets. Bucky straddles his hips and plants a hand on the mattress near his head, the muscle in his jaw jumping as he drags his eyes down Steve’s body. They stop at the bulge in Steve’s pants where his erection is trapped. Steve’s face and neck heats, and he knows that the skin on his chest is probably flushed as well. Embarrassment twinges in the back of his throat. He presses his hips further into the bed, trying to hide evidence of his arousal. He doesn’t want to make Bucky feel like he needs do anything about it. This is Steve’s problem. 

Bucky’s other hand flies to Steve’s hip, stilling it with a grasp that could leave bruises. He breathes out, almost a growl, and meets Steve’s eyes, his pupils eating up irises. Steve can’t stop his mouth from dropping and letting out a breathy whine. 

At the sound, Bucky rolls his hips forward, and Steve realizes that maybe Bucky is just as affected as he is, because he feels a long hard line grinding against his own cock. Bucky drops down onto his elbows, pressing more of his weight onto Steve, caging him in. Bucky’s face is inches from his own, their eyes lock together for a moment before their mouths meet again in a biting kiss. Bucky shifts to rub his stubble against Steve’s neck, reddening it more than his own blushing ever could. Steve’s hands tangle in Bucky’s hair as Bucky sucks long hard kisses into his neck. If anything could leave a physical mark on Steve, it would be Bucky. 

A hand creeps under Steve’s shirt and up his stomach. Steve craves the feeling of Bucky’s skin on his own. He reaches a hand down and hitches his shirt up as much as Bucky’s form will allow. Bucky helps him finish the job, grabbing the shirt and tugging it off him to his wrists, where he twists it around his hands, trapping them above his head. Steve starts to pull his hands down, one of the seams popping, but Bucky grasps them firmly between his metal fingers. 

“I know you can get out of this no problem,” Bucky starts, licking his lips and meeting Steve’s eyes. “But I want you where I put you.” Bucky’s voice drops, going low and rough, stirring up more heat in Steve’s stomach. “If you think you need your hands, you can ask me.” Bucky kisses him slow and gentle, then pulls back, checking in. “How does this sound to you?” 

Steve fists his hands in the shirt and feels Bucky’s weight on him, pinned and captured, helpless but to do what Bucky wants him to, unable to hurt anyone or to make the wrong decision.

“Please,” Steve whispers. “Like this.” 

Bucky’s grin goes crooked and a little feral. 

“Oh, don’t you worry sweetheart,” Bucky groans before kissing his mouth and fisting a hand in his hair, baring Steve’s throat. “I’ll take good care of you.” Bucky’s teeth sink into the muscle of Steve’s neck as he grinds their erections together. Steve moans loudly and Bucky reaches a hand down and palms Steve’s cock. 

Steve desperately wants more, more of Bucky’s hand, more of his mouth. He writhes under Bucky’s strokes. He starts to feel close when Bucky gets up, first tugging off Steve’s pants and underwear and then his own.

“If you don’t like anything we’re doing, tell me,” Bucky says, kneeling over Steve. Steve nods, unable to look away from Bucky’s thick cock. Steve wants to put his mouth on it, wants to feel it fucking his thighs like his Bucky used to. He licks his lips at the thought and Bucky grins, wrapping a hand around Steve’s length. It’s so much better when they’re not constrained by clothes. Bucky’s hand can curve around the head of his dick and run all the way down his shaft. Steve’s hips buck up, chasing the sensation. 

“Oh, you’ll get yours doll,” Bucky says, “I’m very generous.” 

“Thank you,” Steve gasps as Bucky rubs a thumb under his head.

“So sweet for me,” Bucky murmurs, taking a hand off of his dick and reaching across Steve to get into the night stand. Steve whines in frustration, grinding his cock against Bucky’s hip as Bucky pulls a bottle of lube from the drawer. With the snick of a cap, a small pool of lube squirts across Bucky’s fingers. He rubs them together a moment, warming it up, before taking his hand and wrapping it around both of their cocks, giving them a stroke as he thrusts. Steve nearly chokes at the sensation. Bucky groans, leaning down and capturing Steve’s lips into another kiss as he speeds up his thrusting and stroking. Steve feels almost mad with it, Bucky over him, around him, filling his nose and claiming his mouth. Steve’s hips rock with Bucky’s as he feels his orgasm coil and build. Bucky’s teeth sink into the meat of his shoulder with a growl, and Steve brims over, coming in spurts between them, jolting under Bucky’s body. Bucky groans and pulls off Steve’s dick once it’s soft. Steve feels like he’s floating as he watches Bucky’s come-soaked hand strip his cock twice before Bucky himself shakes apart, come painting stripes across Steve’s chest. Bucky’s head drops to Steve’s shoulder, face rubbing against his neck as he kisses the tender skin there. Steve feels more than hears Bucky humming in content, and Steve turns his head, nuzzling his nose into Bucky’s hair. 

Bucky lifts his face away from Steve’s neck, smile breaking across his face as he rests his forehead against Steve’s. 

“Oh, you were perfect, sweetheart,” Bucky says softly before kissing him gently. Steve basks in the words and the softness and the hazy tendrils of his orgasm. Bucky reaches up and releases Steve’s hands from the shirt and brings them back down, rubbing Steve’s shoulders to release any tension. 

“Feel alright, Stevie?” Bucky asks, eyes assessing as he rubs his thumbs over Steve’s arms. 

“I’m great,” Steve responds, his voice smaller than he expected.

“I’m happy to hear it,” Bucky hums. One of Bucky’s hands trails across Steve’s chest and starts to rub his come into Steve’s skin 

“Just get a cloth, that’s gross.” Steve squirms. 

“Nope, going to have this on you all morning, sweetheart. If you really want to, you can take a shower after breakfast.” Bucky finishes rubbing it in as Steve sits with that. Bucky’s marks on his neck are probably already gone, but this will stay as long as he wants. Steve feels a heaviness in his groin at the thought. Okay, Bucky can have his way. Bucky can do whatever he wants if it makes Steve feel like this. 

Bucky lays down next to him when he’s done, tugging them so he’s spooning Steve.

“We can stay like this for a few more minutes, and then we’re going to eat breakfast.” Bucky presses a kiss to Steve’s cheek. Steve nods and wriggles into Bucky’s embrace. 

Steve never thought he would ever have anything good again. But in this bed with Bucky, in this broken and beautiful world? The sun comes up, and for the first time in years, Steve feels it.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I put together a playlist of songs that I listen to while I write this story! They are also songs that fit the theme, in some way or another! You can listen to it here: http://open.spotify.com/playlist/02OjRLpyRW4gA699Rp4iCF
> 
> Thanks for your patience with the updates! I've been busy, but at least I'm almost done with grad school! I hope you enjoy!

Bucky deftly cuts the core from an apple slice as Steve sits at the bar across from him, his chin propped onto his hand. Warmth blooms under Bucky’s ribs as he holds out the slice to Steve. He takes it, their fingers brushing. Steve’s hair is mussed from sleep and pillowcase creases span over his jaw, across his brow to his cheek bone. He’s wearing Bucky’s shirt and it’s a bit big on him, the collar sagging a little to reveal the dip where his collarbones meet. This moment is something that Bucky wants to put in a box with three different locks or get seared to his brain so deeply that HYDRA could never ever hope to burn it away. 

“Hey, can I ask something?” Steve’s voice is soft, lilting with uncertainty. 

“Yeah, anything.” Bucky nods, setting down the apple slice he was in the middle of coring, so he can focus his full attention on Steve. Steve sits a little straighter, fingers coming to grasp against each other in front of him on the counter. He looks down at his hands, eyebrows pinching slightly.

“You said your Steve was dead.” Steve swallows, pausing before swinging his eyes up to meet Bucky’s, clear and blue. “How did he die?” 

Bucky’s mouth dries up. For as much as he can’t pass by a body of water without seeing Steve’s beaten corpse floating in it, he doesn’t think that he’s said it aloud. Everyone had just known what he’d done or told him endlessly what a monster he was for doing it as they chased him down with guns. He’s been living with this thing in his bones, but things don’t have to be spoken to be real.

“Steve?” Bucky swallows. “Real hero. HYDRA had been seeding bad shit in SHIELD’s ranks from its inception. Fuck Operation Paperclip.” Bucky knows that he’s drawing this out. Steve’s braver than him, he’s sure, because Steve said what happened to his Bucky, plain as day. No obfuscation, just grief, regret. “SHIELD had to shoot a bunch of helicarriers down. Steve gave the order to fire while he was still in one, the punk.” His eyes sting. Stalling, qualifying, nothing will make it any better. “The Winter Soldier was in the same one as him. Steve lifted a steel beam off him‒me.” Bucky pauses and looks at Steve for the first time since he started talking. Steve’s face is full of patience, in the soft set of his brows, but his jaw is tensed, as if he’s afraid of what comes next.

“The Winter Soldier had a mission, and unfortunately, he always completed them. Steve dro-” Bucky trembles, voice thick with unshed tears. He sets down the knife. His hand fists on the counter, flesh and blood. It’s the same one that he grabbed the front of Steve’s uniform with as he beat him to a bloody pulp on the shattered edge of that godforsaken helicarrier. Steve covers Bucky’s fist with a warm palm. 

"He dropped his shield, said he wasn't going to fight anymore. The Winter Soldier beat him unconscious and let him fall in a fucking river. I-" Air shivers past Bucky’s lips. "Months later, I broke my conditioning and remembered who he was, what I had done. I killed Steve, dragged his body to shore without his soul, and left him there.” 

Hot tears spill over as Bucky stares at the counter, unblinking. It’s been years but thinking about it too hard never hurts less. He’d always soothe the pain by making plans for the next HYDRA base he wanted to take down. Vengeance was a cold comfort, but not icy enough to make him numb. Sometimes at night, he’d pray to some forgotten god that if he was given a second chance, he would make sure that Steve wouldn’t be hurt. And Steve is sitting here. He is sleep soft with pink lips and golden hair, eyes glassy with emotion. He’s everything Bucky swore he would protect when he was five and didn’t know much about the world at all.

He opens the hand that Steve holds and turns it so their palms kiss. His long thick fingers wrap around Steve’s hand, grip too tight, but he can’t stop himself.

“I should have shaken HYDRA’s influence sooner.” He pulls on Steve’s hand, heaving him closer even from across the counter. “You know, when I said that your Bucky would have been rooting for you? It’s true. When you dropped that shield, my mind caught fire. It wasn’t until I shook HYDRA out of my skull that I realized that it wasn’t fire at all. It was the part of me that HYDRA had gagged and buried. He was screaming at you to just kill me.” Bucky’s metal hand wipes across his eyes. “Fuck, I was so mad at you for giving in like that.” 

“It wasn’t your fault you know,” Steve says roughly. Bucky’s jaw clenches as he shoots Steve a look. “It wasn’t. That was HYDRA.” 

“I know.” And Bucky does. “Knowing doesn’t change it.” 

Steve nods, understanding better than anyone else would in any universe. Bucky walks around the counter, not letting go of Steve’s hand. Steve watches, turning towards him as he steps in the vee of his thighs. 

Bucky slides his hand up Steve’s arm to cup the back of his neck, his other hand palming Steve’s waist. Steve trembles as his eyes lock onto Bucky.

“As sure as it wasn’t my fault, it wasn’t yours either,” Bucky murmurs. Steve opens his mouth as if he’s going to protest, but Bucky grips his hair near the nape of his neck and tugs gently, silencing him. “Either we’re both to blame, or neither of us are. It doesn’t work any other way.” 

Steve looks down, his lashes smudging over the top of his cheeks. Bucky is breathless for a moment. Steve’s lips press together in thought.

“Okay,” Steve whispers, eyes tracking back to Bucky’s face. “Yeah. You’re right.”

“Yeah, you’re definitely different from him.” Bucky’s lips curl up in a smile. “He would never let me know I was right.” Bucky’s fingers loosen from Steve’s hair to scratch gently at his scalp. Steve gives him the smallest smile and Bucky doesn’t think he’ll ever tire of having him under his hands, in his sight.

“Losing you changed me, the first time, and then the time after that,” Steve says. And Bucky knows all about being changed against your will. He nods and rests his forehead against Steve’s. 

“I know, Stevie,” Bucky whispers, a rough and brimming thing. “I know.” 

And yeah, back then there might not have been any way for them to have turned out well. They were both damned to earthen hell.

But now? Steve's name on his tongue is a benediction that he's sure he wouldn't be given if they were anything but blessed.

\--

They sit at Bucky’s rickety table, breakfast half-finished on their plates. One of Bucky’s journals is cracked open, its pages thick with pictures, writing, and scraps of maps. His pen scratches out the details of the memory that came to him last night, the first one he’s had in a year.

“What are you writing?” Steve asks.

“Something that came back to me yesterday.” Bucky finishes the sentence he was in the middle of writing. “So that way I don’t forget it again.”

“How much do you remember? From before HYDRA?” Steve sips his coffee.

“There must have been, what, three or four months? Where it seemed like I couldn’t even get a glass of water or see a leaf falling without my brain wiring itself together again with memories,” Bucky starts, gesturing with his pen. “I felt like I short circuited all the time, every time I remembered something really big.” He pauses a moment, weighing his next words. “Everything is hidden in there somehow, I think. It’s just a matter of it coming back. I was a mess. I’m surprised someone didn’t find me and kill me then.

Steve’s foot knocks against his under the table and hooks around his leg. “How did you get through it?”

“Eventually my brain slowed down the rewiring, I guess. Exhausted all low hanging fruit in the memory department. Only so many times I can smell fried dough and remember that time we went to Coney Island.” 

“But-” He hesitates. “Since you’ve been here, I’ve remembered more. It’s-” He licks his lips. “I wonder if you remember the same things, or if it was different.” 

“What was one of the memories?” 

“During the war, you were beating yourself up after we almost lost Dugan. It was cold and we shared a bedroll.”

Steve sits back in his chair a moment, fingers coming to his chin in thought. His voice starts out hesitant, as if it’s coming to him after the words leave his mouth. “You shoved your cold hands on my stomach, and I pushed you away, but I wasn’t used to being so strong yet, so I nearly knocked you out of the tent.” 

“That’s-” Bucky feels it: the grin he’s sure he gave when he wiggled his fingers against Steve’s soft skin on his stomach, the bark of laughter that left Steve’s mouth, and the smell of dirt in Bucky’s nose as he rolled with Steve’s shove. 

“You laughed?” Bucky becomes more certain of the memory by the second. “And when you sent me flying, you got this horrified look on your face. Started apologizing, but I was too busy laughing to hear it.” 

“Yeah, that’s right.” Steve’s face shimmers with a wistful smile. Bucky leans forward and kisses his forehead. Steve ducks his head a bit and blushes before shoving another bite of food in his mouth. 

How many more memories do they share like this, Bucky wonders as he takes a bite of toast. Nearly identical, except for the half-step shock of different atoms making up their matter, the distinct and real fact that they weren’t the same people. 

As surely as the other Bucky had shoved his frigid hands up Steve’s shirt, the other Steve was startled by his own strength when he shoved him away. Maybe for a minute the two universes superimposed, and maybe in that moment they were all the same people anyway.

Bucky’s not sure how many memories someone needs to be a person. He knows that the Winter Soldier and Bucky Barnes were two separate people, although one stole the skin of the other. Now, with memories of both, Bucky feels more like Frankenstein’s monster. Zola, the monstrous scientist, stole the useful parts of Bucky and repressed the rest.

But Steve, just by existing, helps him find the seams where Bucky Barnes starts and the Winter Soldier ends.

“Come here.” Bucky gets up from the table and holds out a hand to Steve, who immediately takes it. Bucky leads them both to the small couch crammed into a corner in his apartment. His hands settle firmly on Steve’s shoulders as he pushes him down on the couch. Without a word, Bucky darts to the door to check the locks. Satisfied that they are unchanged, he goes to the window in the living room and watches outside for a minute. He doesn’t notice anything suspicious. A man stands on a street corner, waiting for a car to pass. A woman walks by with a dog. Everything is probably fine.

Bucky turns the radio on and adjusts the station dial to something soft before settling onto the couch next to Steve. Bucky hauls Steve over him so he’s laying down, settled between the back of the couch and Bucky’s chest.

Steve laughs. “You know you could just ask me to move.”

Bucky grins, soft and easy. “I just prefer to do it myself.” He kisses Steve’s temple, nuzzling his nose into Steve’s hair and inhaling. The scent of Bucky’s shampoo mixes with Steve’s warm skin scent and creates something almost familiar.

“Besides,” Bucky whispers against Steve’s ear. “You seem to be pretty fine with it, if this morning was any indication.”

Steve shivers, and Bucky can see blush stain his cheekbones. “Oh, we’re talking about that now?”

“I think we should.” Bucky squeezes Steve’s waist. “I wanted to know if you wanted to do something like that again, and it’s fine if you don’t.”

Steve is quiet for a moment. And Bucky means it. He doesn’t even know what kind of relationship Steve and the other Bucky had. Just because he nearly worshipped at the temple of Steve’s ass before he got drafted doesn’t mean that the Steve in front of him got the same treatment. 

“I do,” Steve murmurs. “It was, hm.” Steve sucks his lips a moment in thought. “It was different from how Bucky and I did things. He never told me what to do, we just did everything together.” Steve chuckles. “I don’t think I would have done what he asked if he had ever tried to order me around.”

Bucky’s heart breaks, just a little. This Steve used to be as brazen and stubborn as the Steve he knew. And although Bucky loves how he goes so easy in his hands, it’s not that this Steve was always different. It’s the way the world embroiled him. He guesses that he’s the same.

“Are you okay with things being different?”

“Yes.” Steve’s response is immediate, out almost before Bucky finished talking. “It’s good, having it be this way with you. If it was exactly the same, I think it would be too close to pretending that nothing changed.”

“Yes, I feel the same way. And, this feels like it fits us, at least for right now.” Bucky has trouble imagining what he’d do if he couldn’t control Steve to some degree. All those times where he couldn’t get Steve to listen to him, and Steve would get hurt or do something reckless, they flicker in his mind. The stakes feel too high, now that Bucky knows what it’s like to lose.

“It does.” Steve breathes and tightens his hold on Bucky’s torso. “I don’t think I’d want it any other way.”

Bucky rests his cheek on top of Steve’s head and strokes a hand up and down Steve’s side. They lay like that, drifting in and out of conversation as thoughts bubble up and burst into whispers. After a while, the plunks of raindrops against windows accompanies the melodies from the radio. Bucky stretches a blanket over them both to ward off the cold.

Steve sniffs, and Bucky peers down at him to find wet eyelashes clumped together.

“Want to talk about it, baby?” Bucky pushes Steve’s hair off his forehead.

Steve shakes his head and wipes at his eyes. “I just didn’t think this would ever happen. It’s a lot.” Steve stares intently at Bucky’s chest for a moment. “And I’m not even talking about finding you. You don’t know how many days I spent laying on the couch wishing that I didn’t have to be alone.”

“I think I have an idea. Ever since I got free from HYDRA, I’ve been alone.” Bucky’s not sure that even if he hadn’t been on the run, if he would have been able to find anyone that he could connect with.

Steve’s soft lips press against Bucky’s cheek. “Well, now we’re not alone.”

**Author's Note:**

> You can come hang out with me on Tumblr! https://calypso-mary.tumblr.com/


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